


Yes, Daddy

by Copper_Nails (Her_Madjesty)



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fighting, Fighting As An Analogy For Sex, Girl Loving Hours, Lust, Not Actually Any Daddy Play, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25112863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Her_Madjesty/pseuds/Copper_Nails
Summary: “Do you yield?” Cara asks, too smug to be sexy (and yet).
Relationships: Cara Dune/Women
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	Yes, Daddy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [takenbyst0rm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/takenbyst0rm/gifts).



> Happy birthday, takenbyst0rm! Apologies for any oversights in the canon; it's been a while since I watched The Mandalorian.

The common house on Sorgan smells like piss. The pit in the center smells like blood, but you can only tell when you get too close. Aire and her “cousin,” Ryff, prefer to sit closer to the window, where the humid air leaks in and offers a little variety to the salt and iron.

Aire smiles as she brings their drinks back to their table. The crowd gathering around the pit is full of lazy locals, too slow with the aftermath of the harvest to work up a real fervor. Ryff, their face covered, nods at her as she takes her seat at their side.

“Is she fighting today?” they ask in their mother tongue.

Aire leans back in her seat, craning her head to look around the bodies blocking her view. “I don’t see why she wouldn’t,” she replies. Her “cousin”’s headscarf may cover their horns and face, but anyone who dared lean too close could make sense of the Dathomirian lilt of their tongue.

Not that it would matter, precisely. But Ryff is careful, and so is Aire.

Sorgan may be welcoming to those in need of sanctuary, but that doesn’t mean that it is kind.

Across the way, the door to the common house opens. Silver on silver armor walks in and attempts to disappear into the crowd.

Aire watches a Mandalorian move to the counter, something swaddled against his chest. She glances at Ryff, who stills – then shrugs.

Noise towards the back of the house draws both of their attentions. Aire feels her heart start to race as the first grunts of interest – followed by jeers and trills – warm up the room for an afternoon fight.

The competitor for the day is a no-one. He looks like someone replaced his stomach with a barrel and his arms with boulders, but even that isn’t enough to generate too much interest. He steps into the pit and raises his arms to only smattering applause.

The rest of the common house fixes on a dark table close to the bar. Aire rises to her feet, pulling Ryff up along with her, trying to get a better look.

Across the room, Cara Dune wipes the last of her drink off of her mouth. She brings her thumb up to her lips and licks away the broth before cracking her neck.

Aire tries not to faint.

Cara doesn’t say anything as she rises from her seat. She doesn’t say anything as she makes her way into the ring. Her opponent grins down at her like he’s somebody, but she ignores him as the house owner wraps a tight belt around her waist.

She only looks at her opponent when his belt clicks into place.

It’s then that Aire sees her smile.

“Oh, kriff,” murmurs Ryff. “This’ll be good.”

Over the bar top, a bell rings.

Cara’s opponent charges.

Watching Cara Dune fight isn’t like watching a dance, though Aire can see how someone less familiar with her might compare the two. Cara ducks out of the way as her opponent lowers his head and laughs – _beautifully –_ as he crashes into the side of the pit. She leaps up and onto his back, her thick thighs only coming part of the way around his body.

Aire gasps as her biceps flex.

Cara tangles her fingers into her opponent’s hair and starts to choke him, her eyes shining with delight. He tries to buck her off, but she holds firm.

It’s not until his off-green face starts to turn violet that he manages to dislodge her. Cara doesn’t land on her feet. She is up, though, before Aire can blink, her arms spread wide in welcome.

Her opponent roars like a bantha and charges her again.

Aire can’t keep up with their footwork – it’s too dusty in the ring, and the crowd is growing. She hears the man swear, though, as Cara dodges a wayward kick.

In that second, she turns in the ring, dragging her opponent with her by the leash that binds the both of them.

Aire swears she looks straight at her. The heat in her core boils over, and she has to bring a hand to her mouth to keep herself from moaning.

Cara’s lip is bleeding. She licks the blood away, looks at her opponent – and then headbutts him in the face.

Aire falls into her seat. Ryff looks down at her, smug smile hidden behind layers of forgiving fabric.

“Need a minute to recover?”

Aire nods, speechless.

The first round of the fight comes to an end, neither party the victor. The crowd briefly disperses to refill their drinks. Aire watches as more than a few of the locals offer Cara their tankards, but she declines all of them. Across the ring, her opponent guzzles down galaxy-knows-what and glares like Cara’s killed his lothcat.

She’s too busy staring at the sweat gleaming on Cara Dune’s collarbones to immediately feel the touch on her side. When she looks over at Ryff, expecting a good-humored ribbing, she instead sees her “cousin”’s eyes narrow. They nod past the ring – and yes. There’s the Mandalorian.

“Mando’s closing in,” says Ryff, careful this time to leave their Dathomirian behind.

Aire frowns as the heat in her gut temporarily sputters. “There are dozens of people here with bounties on their heads,” she murmurs, careful to turn her head away from the pit. “A Mando’s not going to come after someone who’s not worth more than a few thousand credits. What was your bounty, last time you checked?”

Ryff huffs but doesn’t reply.

Aire doesn’t often see her “cousin” at a loss for words. The annoyed thrum in her chest eases in sympathy.

“We’ll stay for one more round,” she says, reaching out to put a hand over theirs. “Then we’ll go.”

Ryff doesn’t respond, but Aire sees their eyes flicker in her direction. There’s relief written into the red eyes that meet hers.

Aire smiles and squeezes their hand.

The bell above the bar top rings out again.

In the pit, Cara Dune rises from her seat. Before she has a chance to do more than that, her opponent has her pinned against the side of the ring, his bulk almost blocking her from view. Aire forgets all about Ryff’s concerns; she’s back on her feet and shouting with the rest of the crowd, cursing the man’s dirty play.

“You wanna cheat?” she hears Cara’s voice clear as day. “Fine. I like it rough.”

(That line, that anger, that husky threat – Aire tucks that one away for many a night to come.)

Aire doesn’t know how she does it, but Cara’s quick to break her opponent’s grip. She slips between his legs, knocking out his knees as she goes. He reaches after her, tearing at the thin shirt she wears while she brawls.

The view he leaves behind – well. More than a few whistles echo through the common house.

Aire feels her knees go weak. Of course, Cara’s protected herself as best she can, but it’s impossible to deny the sight of that thick muscle, the gentle swell of her breasts, the sweat dripping down into the waistline of her pants.

“You’re drooling,” says Ryff.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Aire squeaks back.

And then, Cara’s moving again. The leash connecting her to her opponent catches somewhere sensitive, and the man screams, failing to rise from the ground. Cara reaches out and grabs onto it, drawing another gasp from the crowd. Aire sees her eyes light up as the electricity flows through her, but she doesn’t stop moving – doesn’t drop the leash until it’s wrapped again and again around her opponent’s neck.

(That...may be a fantasy. Maybe Aire dreams of that tug, of Cara Dune’s thighs in front of her face and the sweet promise that, no matter what she says, Cara will take what she wants.)

“Do you yield?” Cara asks, too smug to be sexy (and yet). Leaning over a broken man, her leash around his neck and her top ripped to shreds like some holovid star, Aire hears her all but whisper, "Say 'yes, daddy'."

Ryff grabs her hand. Aire almost bites them for dragging her gaze away from the scene.

“Mando’s moving,” they say, standing to join her. “We’ve gotta go.”

The whine that escapes Aire’s lips sings of a deep-seated frustration. She turns – and yes, there’s that silver armor snaking through the crowd, drawing closer and closer to their side of the ring.

“Fine,” she says, taking one last glance at Dune. The fighter’s taken her opponent to the floor. Aire has to press a hand to her chest just as Cara leans the whole of her weight on him, making him scream as she does.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Ryff says as they escape the common house together. “I know she’s your favorite.”

“You’re damn right she is,” Aire agrees. “You owe me rounds for, like, a _month_.”

She doesn’t need to see Ryff’s face to know that that roll their eyes, but she still comes around to look at them, anyway. She presses a quick kiss to their forehead, feels their horns beneath the headscarf – and then they’re running again, quick to disappear into Sorgan’s infinite forests.

*

(Back in the common house, Cara Dune rises from the ground, victorious, bruised, and bloody. As she undoes the belt tying her to her opponent, something cold presses against the small of her back.

“Well,” she murmurs, letting the belt fall to the ground. “That’s one way to get a girl’s attention.”

Beneath his helmet, Din rolls his eyes.)


End file.
